Raoul bolted for the exit. Meanwhile, things had grown quiet below. Kennin had a feeling the cops were hatching a plan.
“Raoul!” Kennin hissed just as Tito’s cousin reached the door to the stairs. “Don’t take the stairs! Take the elevator down to the casino. Go play blackjack for a couple of hours.”
“Gotcha.” Raoul disappeared through the exit. Tito started wiping down the outside of the car. Kennin got in and wiped the steering wheel, the shifter, and anything else Raoul might have touched.
Suddenly Tito straightened up. He grabbed the car door and pulled it open. “I hear voices,” he whispered. “They’re close!”
“Time to bounce,” Kennin whispered back, getting out of the Camry and wiping away any trail of prints he might have left in the process.
“Come on!” Tito hissed nervously.
Kennin pressed a finger against his lips, and they headed for the doorway that led to the stairs. Kennin quietly opened the door, but stopped.
“What’s wrong?” Tito whispered.
“Footsteps coming up the stairs.” Kennin slowly let the door close again.
Tito quickly looked around and got jumpy. “What’re we gonna do?” he gasped. “We can’t go down and we can’t stay here or we’ll get caught.”
“This way,” Kennin whispered, and started to jog up the ramp.
“But that just leads to the top level,” Tito said. “If the cops find the car and not the driver, they’re gonna think he went up here.”
“You got a better idea?”
“Crap!” Tito muttered.
They ran up to the roof level. The December night air was cold. Except for half a dozen cars, the top level was empty. Just concrete and yellow lined spaces. Under the vast starlit sky above, they quickly looked around for a place to hide. “There!” Tito pointed at the square concrete elevator housing.
“No!” Kennin said. “That’s exactly where they’d expect us to hide.”
“Then where?” Tito asked.
Kennin looked around and pointed.
Tito frowned. “There’s nothing but a wall.”
Kennin knew that. He also knew that the cops were going to be there in less than a minute.
They reached the wall and Kennin looked over the side. Except for a row of stubby cell phone antennas bolted to the outside wall about two feet below the ledge, it was six stories straight down to the street.
“Come on,” Kennin said, and started to shimmy over the ledge.
Tito froze. “Are you insane?”
“You want to get nailed?” Kennin asked.
Tito didn’t answer. With wide eyes he watched as Kennin slid over the ledge and carefully lowered himself onto a cell phone antenna, straddling it as if it was a tree branch. When it didn’t break off under Kennin’s weight, Tito decided to give it a try, carefully inching over the ledge and letting himself down onto the antenna next to Kennin’s.
Now they were both perched six stories up on the outside wall of the parking garage, straddling cell phone antennas, their feet hanging in the air. Cars passed on the street below and couples strolled along the sidewalk. One slip and it was six stories straight down. Tito held the cell phone antenna so tightly his knuckles turned white.
“I don’t like this,” he hissed through clenched teeth.
“Relax,” Kennin whispered back. More cars passed on the streets below, and some kind of bird glided past above, lit from beneath by the thousands of watts of neon and incandescent lights.
“Relax? Are you out of your frickin’ mind?” Tito raised his voice. “How am I supposed to relax?”
“Shut it!” Kennin hissed. “Enjoy the view.”
“The things I frickin’ let you talk me into,” Tito muttered.
“Don’t thank me, thank Cousin Raoul.”
“If I knew I was gonna wind up risking my life for that idiot,” Tito said, “I would have let the cops get him.”
Suspended on the outside wall, Kennin couldn’t hear what was happening with the cops. It was impossible to even know if they’d gotten up to the roof level yet. He heard a loud roar approaching and looked up as a jet passed overhead, the dark underside appearing a lot closer than it would have at street level.
“How long we gonna have to stay here?” Tito whispered after the jet passed.
“Till they leave,” Kennin whispered back.
“How’re we gonna know when that is?” Tito asked.
Just then a deep male voice came from the other side of the wall: “Let’s try up here.”
Tito’s eyes went wide. He and Kennin could hear footsteps on the roof level.
“Look on top of the elevator,” someone said.
“And under those cars, too.”
On the other side of the wall, Tito and Kennin stared at each other for a while. Then Kennin tilted his head back till it touched the wall, and closed his eyes. A slight breeze fluttered his hair, and he felt a shiver. The night air was cold and they weren’t wearing jackets. There was nothing to do but “hang around” and wait.
They heard footsteps and grunts as cops got down on their knees and looked under cars. Now and then the beam of a flashlight would swing over the ledge above them. Then Kennin heard a loud scrape just a few feet away on the other side of the wall, and a voice said, “I’m going to look over here.”
15
cell phone antenna, Kennin stared at Tito. The kid’s eyes were bugging out of his head, and his mouth hung open, his lower lip quivering. Kennin quickly shook his head. A flashlight beam swung right over them.
Kennin heard heavy breathing. Tito’s mouth was agape and he was staring straight down. The kid was freaking. Kennin let go of the antenna with one hand and reached over, placing it on Tito’s shoulder to steady him. Tito quickly swiveled his head toward Kennin. His face was pale and speckled with sweat.
Kennin mouthed the words, “Don’t look down.” Tito took a deep breath and nodded.
A minute later a voice above them said, “No sign of anyone.”
“He must’ve gone into the casino,” said someone else. “Maybe took the elevator down.”
“If he’s in the casino, at least we know the perp must be eighteen.”
“Or he looks eighteen.”
Footsteps began to move away. Perhaps twenty seconds passed, and then Tito started to stretch up as if to look over the edge. Once again Kennin grabbed him by the shoulder and shook his head. It was too soon. A favorite trick of the cops was to pretend to leave and then see who popped up.
So they stayed where they were. Kennin heard chattering teeth. They were Tito’s. At least once a minute the guy would whisper, “Now?” and Kennin would shake his head. The longer they waited the better. Finally, when even Kennin couldn’t stand waiting anymore, they climbed back over the ledge.
The roof level was empty. The cops were gone. Tito and Kennin walked across the lot and then down the ramps back to the first floor. Tito dragged his feet and looked drained.
“I can’t take this,” he moaned through chattering teeth. “You gotta have nerves of steel for this stuff. I’ve got nerves of bubblegum.”
“Tell Cousin Raoul not to steal any more cars,” Kennin suggested.
“Right,” Tito scoffed. “I might as well tell my dog to stop licking his nuts. Ain’t gonna happen, amigo.”
They got back down to the valet office. Tito looked up at the clock. “Five of twelve, dude. Almost closing time. How’re you gonna get home?”
The words had hardly left his lips when Mariel pulled up in the red Lexus. Kennin watched Tito’s jaw drop.
“No way!” he gasped under his breath.
“It’s not what it seems,” Kennin said in a low voice.
“Oh, sure,” Tito smirked. “It’s midnight and the hottest girl in school is picking you up and it’s not what it seems. Mariel just happened to be passing by here exactly at closing time and just happened to stop in because somehow she miraculously knew that you’d need a ride home.”
; Kennin couldn’t help but be amused. He wondered how Tito would react if he knew Mariel wasn’t there to take him to his place, but to hers.
“Catch you tomorrow,” Kennin said.
“Yeah, sure,” Tito said. “In the meantime, I hope you get some sleep tonight.”
“It’s not like that,” Kennin said.
“Anything you say,” Tito grumbled, and went to get his BMX bike.
Kennin got into the Lexus. It was fragrant with perfume. “Thanks for picking me up.”
“My pleasure,” Mariel said with a smile, and started to drive. “So how was work?”
“The same as always,” Kennin replied with a shrug.
“What’s your job?” she asked as they rode through the dark.
“Washing cars.”
“Much of a future in that?” she asked.
“Maybe if you’re the guy who owns the car wash,” Kennin said.
“Think you’ll be that guy someday?” Mariel asked.
“Not a clue. How about you?”
“I’ll wait till college to decide,” Mariel said. “Sometimes I think about acting.”
Appropriate choice, Kennin thought.
They entered Mariel’s neighborhood, passing large houses with red or blue tile roofs and broad green lawns. It was after midnight, and most of the windows were dark. The streets were lined with palm trees, and the driveways had shiny new cars parked in them. Kennin lowered the passenger window to smell the sweet, moist air.
Mariel pulled the Lexus into the driveway, next to a big Mercedes sedan. Like the other houses on the street, the windows in her parents’ house were dark.
“Close the door quietly,” she whispered as they got out of the Lexus. In the dark driveway she took his hand and led him around the side of the house.
“You’re not going to tell your parents I’m staying here?” Kennin whispered.
“I will,” Mariel whispered back. “When the time is right.”
They went around to the back of the house. Unlike the last time Kennin had been here, the pool was dark. The only sound was the whirring of the filtration system. Still holding his hand tightly in hers, Mariel led him to the cabana. She quietly turned the door knob, opened the door, and led him inside.
Kennin expected her to flick on the lights and show him around. Instead, Mariel turned to him in the dark and slid her hands around his waist, pulling him closer until their bodies pressed against each other.
16
to school the next morning, but Kennin insisted she drop him off a couple of blocks away so that he could walk. The last thing he needed was rumors starting because people saw him getting out of her car. In the afternoon he walked a few blocks and then she picked him up and drove him the rest of the way to work.
But the third afternoon when Kennin left school, he saw a familiar-looking dark green unmarked cop car parked at the curb. Inside sat Detective Neilson. Kennin caught the detective’s eye and nodded. Then he motioned with his head down the block. Neilson nodded back and drove slowly to the corner.
Kennin turned the corner. Then, away from the rest of the kids, he leaned into the window of the detective’s car. “What’s the word?”
Neilson jerked his head over to the passenger side. “Get in.”
“We going somewhere?”
“Just get in,” Neilson growled. He was not in a good mood, and it was best to do what he said. Kennin got into the car. Neilson was wearing an ugly brown overcoat that did not go well with his new look. On the sidewalk a few kids from school passed. One or two looked into the car and saw Kennin.
“Think you could drive, so these kids don’t see me?” Kennin asked.
Neilson put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. “How’s your sister?”
“You came all the way here to ask me that?” Kennin asked.
“Hey,” Neilson snapped sharply. “Watch your mouth.”
Kennin stared out the window.
“Still working over at the Babylon parking garage?” the detective asked.
“That’s right.”
“Know anything about a stolen Camry that wound up on the fifth floor the other night?”
Kennin shook his head.
“Funny thing is, the lab guys went over it and the entire car was wiped clean,” Neilson said. “No prints at all. Not even the owner’s. Makes you wonder how the car even got there.”
“Maybe the owner wore gloves,” Kennin said.
“Yeah, I thought of that too,” Neilson said. “So I asked Mrs. Johnson. She’s the car’s owner. And guess what? She’s never worn gloves while driving in her life. She’s afraid the wheel will slip.”
“Guess she doesn’t know about racing gloves,” Kennin said.
“Guess not,” said Neilson. “So back to my original question. How do you think the car got wiped clean?”
“You said it was stolen,” Kennin asked. “So maybe the thief wiped it clean.”
“Well, somebody wiped it clean, that’s for sure,” Neilson said. “And that’s the strange thing, because while the lab guys couldn’t find any prints, they did find residue on the car of some special pH-balanced soaps with lubricants.”
Kennin scowled and raised his palms upward questioningly. As if to say, So?
“So it turns out Mrs. Johnson never uses that stuff,” Neilson said.
“She washes the car herself?” Kennin asked.
“No, she usually goes to the Five Hands Car Wash,” Neilson said. “Strange thing is, they don’t use those kinds of soaps either. But guess who does?”
The answer was obvious. “Mr. Mercado has us use them on his cars,” Kennin answered.
Neilson nodded. “You and Tito Rivera, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So tell me, Kennin, how in the world do you think Mrs. Johnson’s car got wiped down with the same rags—”
“We don’t use rags,” Kennin interrupted. “We use chammies. Sheepskin.”
Neilson raised an eyebrow. “Very fancy. So how did her car get wiped down with Mr. Mercado’s chammies?”
Kennin shrugged.
“Where are the chammies usually kept, Kennin?” the detective asked.
“In a closet next to the valet parking office,” Kennin said.
“Is the closet usually locked?”
Kennin shook his head.
Neilson sighed. “And next you’re going to tell me you have no idea how chammies in a closet on the first floor were used to wipe a stolen Camry on the fifth floor. Like I’m supposed to believe that every car thief in Las Vegas knows the chammies are there. And that with three police cruisers chasing him, this particular car thief had the wherewithal to stop on the first floor and pick up a few chammies. Then drive up to the fifth floor and carefully wipe down both the inside and the outside of the car. And then stroll away.”
“If you say so,” Kennin replied.
“And that leads to my next question,” Neilson said. “Just how do you think the chammies that were used on the fifth floor got back down to the closet on the first floor?”
“Maybe they didn’t,” Kennin said.
“You missing any chammies?” the detective asked.
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Would Tito Rivera know?”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
Neilson drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and was quiet for a moment. “You’re a pretty cool character, Kennin. Especially for a sixteen-year-old. But that in itself speaks volumes, know what I mean? It tells me you’ve been here before. It tells me you’ve had a lot of experience dealing with cops.”
Kennin stared down at an empty can of Diet Mountain Dew on the floor of the car. “Listen, Detective Neilson, I know you’re only doing your job, so here’s the real deal. I don’t steal cars anymore, okay? Maybe I did some dumb stuff back in California, but that was a long time ago in a galaxy far away. I’m finished with that now.”
“You got any outstanding warrants?” Neilson asked.
>
Kennin shook his head. “The charges were adjudicated. Youthful offender. The records are sealed.”
Neilson raised a blond eyebrow. “You telling me you learned your lesson?”
“You could say that,” Kennin said. “You could say that I don’t want to end up like my father. You could say that mostly, I’d just like to be left alone.”
“But you still haven’t told me everything you know about the Camry,” Neilson said. “Or about the GTO.”
“You know that saying about being caught between a rock and a hard place?” Kennin asked.
“Sometimes you have to take sides,” said Neilson.
“Against my family and friends?”
“People do it all the time,” Neilson said.
Kennin didn’t bother to reply. He just gazed out the window.
“So, seriously, what is going on with your sister?” Neilson asked.
“What do you care?” Kennin asked.
“You don’t trust anyone, do you?” Neilson said.
Kennin tried to think about who he could really trust. Only two people carne to mind: his sister, as long as she wasn’t totally strung out. And Angelita.
“She’s okay,” Kennin said.
“My guys tell me they haven’t seen her around,” Neilson said.
“That’s right,” said Kennin.
“I hear certain people are kind of upset,” Neilson said. “They’ve been looking for her.”
Kennin placed his shoe on the empty Mountain Dew can and slowly began to crush it.
“I could help make sure they don’t find her,” Neilson offered. “But I’d need something in return.”
Kennin nodded. The detective steered the car over to the curb and stopped. “You can go. Just think about what I said.”
Kennin got out. He was a few blocks from school and assumed he would have to walk back to meet Mariel. So he was surprised when she pulled up to the curb in front of him. He opened the door and got in.
“You followed us?” he asked.
“I saw you get in the car,” Mariel replied as she pulled away from the curb. “So that was a detective, right?”
“How’d you know?” Kennin asked.
This time it was Mariel’s turn to shrug mysteriously.
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